


We'll Sit and Watch the World Burn (and offer sarcastic commentary)

by BlackWolf105



Series: Team Machine, Family Bonding [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Other, Random OC's - Freeform, Team Bonding, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:35:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27141182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackWolf105/pseuds/BlackWolf105
Summary: Root stared at the piece of paper Harold had pushed into her hand; her mind racing, trying to come up with some kind of explanation.There was no way this could be true.
Relationships: (background) Root | Samantha Groves/Sameen Shaw
Series: Team Machine, Family Bonding [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1982272
Comments: 5
Kudos: 33





	We'll Sit and Watch the World Burn (and offer sarcastic commentary)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, I'm back with... this *gestures emphatically around self*, not quite sure what it is, but here we are!
> 
> I blame SylviaNightshade for this. All of our conversations start so normal... and yet they end up here... o_O 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Kudos and comments are of course always welcome and enjoyed.

Root stared at the piece of paper Harold had pushed into her hand; her mind racing, trying to come up with _some_ kind of explanation.

It’s a prank.

_Harold’s not that sort of man._

It’s a code – there’s some hidden message that she just has to put together.

 _She couldn’t see any kind of pattern to the images or words_.

Harold had finally cracked.

_He looked just as serious as ever._

There was no way this could be true.

“Well, Miss Groves, what do you think?” The inquisitive tone broke through the younger woman’s panicked thoughts.

Opening her mouth, Root simply blinked at the man in front of her, no sound passing her lips.

Harold started earnestly back.

Clearing her throat, she tried again. “Well, Harry, I…” she trailed off; there was simply nothing to say.

The older man let out a sigh, eyebrows raising as he awaited her response.

“I’m just not sure that this is… the best idea.”

“Miss Groves, you agreed that we needed to spend more quality time as a group.”

“Well, yeah, but…” her voice gave out; her hand aimlessly waving the paper. “This wasn’t really what I had in mind, Harry.”

“Believe me, it’s not my first choice either, but Lionel suggested it.”

Root felt her eyebrows shoot up, “And we’re taking _Lionel’s_ advice why, exactly?”

Harold fixed her with a disapproving glare. “Detective Fusco is a valued member of this team, Miss Groves.”

“One you didn’t tell about _anything_ until it was almost too late.”

Harold closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “Well, while your objections are noted Miss Groves, I’m afraid that they come too late. The detective has everything set up already and he’s expecting us to arrive at that location,” he gestured towards the address at the top of the page, “tomorrow afternoon.”

“But…” Root’s voice trailed off as Harold simply turned back to his computer, effectively dismissing her. She huffed, crumpling the paper and throwing it towards the corner of the room; Bear’s head jerked up as the projectile traveled through the air, before it dropped back down onto his paws somewhat dejectedly when he realized it wasn’t his ball. “Fine. But you’re telling Sameen and the Big Lug.”

She turned on her heel, making her way towards the gated entrance and, eventually, the street above.

“Please tell me you have _something_ for me to do tomorrow afternoon,” the young woman ignored the strange looks shot in her direction as she made her way down the crowded New York Street; her sigh lingered in the air as the Machine played a negatory tone in her ear. “Well, at least I won’t be alone. Chances are Sameen and John are going to want to be there less than I do.”

Her lips quirked up as the Machine agreed.

“Besides, who knows. Maybe this could be interesting.”

______________________________________

“Remind me to kill Lionel when I see him.”

Root smiled as the car pulled into the parking lot; Shaw’s hands were tight on the wheel as she jerked them into a spot.

“You may have to get behind John.” She gestured towards the glowering man as he stood outside the building, his watch cap pulled low over his ears against the chill of the October air.

“Oh hell no. _He_ can get behind _me_.” The door flew open as Shaw pushed her way onto the sidewalk; Root could only imagine that the sound of the slamming door could be heard back in Chinatown.

She was starting to understand Harold _no firearms_ policy.

Opening her own door, Root gracefully exited the car, closing the door gently behind her.

“Hey Reese, funny seeing you here.” John raised an eyebrow in her direction, not meeting her warm-ish smile with one of his own.

“Root. You seem…” He trailed off slightly.

“Less hostile then some?” She helpfully supplied. The accompanying smile she got from the older man was worth the heated glare from Shaw. Probably.

“I was going to say in a good mood. But yours works too.”

She shrugged, “I figure the faster we get this done, the faster I can go back to enjoying my Saturday doing… well, anything but this.”

“I’d rather be _dead_ then doing this.”

Root hid a smile behind an eye roll at Shaw’s words. “Coming from someone who’s been presumed dead, I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Coming from someone who _was_ dead, it sure as hell is.”

John let out what could be only be described as a chuckle as he pulled the door open, waiting for the two women to go through.

Shaw almost jerked back at the action, glaring, incensed, at John, before aggressively grabbing the door from him; Root watched with thinly veiled amusement as the shorter woman practically shoved John through the door in front of her, and barely managed to catch it herself as Shaw made her way into the building.

“Well, I was right about one thing.” She smiled at nothing as the Machine chirped inquisitively. “This _is_ going to be interesting.”

______________________________________

“Welcome to Sal’s Escape Rooms. Before proceeding if everyone could please place any and all electronic devices in this lockbox, please.” Root raised an eyebrow as the speaker, a young man who couldn’t be more then seventeen and who somehow seemed to want to be there less than Shaw, gestured boredly at the small grey box sitting on the counter.

One-by-one, the box was filled with cellphones, Bluetooth headsets, and interestedly one pager; Root idly wondered who it belonged to.

Much to even Harold’s annoyance, when Lionel had decided that this was the prefect “team bonding” activity, he had neglected to mention that it wouldn’t just be the five of them – they would be in a group ten people.

“Thank you,” Root turned her attention back to the teenager, who in the small window of time she hadn’t been paying attention to him seemed to have lost even more of his enthusiasm. “Now if you can please follow me, I’ll take you to the room.”

Without waiting to see if anyone was listening to him, the kid turned and started down the hallway.

Exchanging a three way look with both John and Shaw, she followed Lionel and Harry, not giving much attention to the small family of five following behind.

“This is the room.” The teenager stopped in front of a door that Root supposed was meant to be decorated like it was the door to an underground bunker. “The rules are simple: you have an hour and half to figure out all of the puzzles and escape the room.” He pulled a walkie talkie from his pocket – seriously, what was it with these people? Were they living in 2002 or something? – and handed it to Lionel, who took it with far too much enthusiasm for someone being handed technology from before the dawn of time. “If you get stuck, you can use this to call for assistance; you only get three hints. Don’t waste them.” Pulling a key from his pocket, his unlocked the door and gestured for them to enter. “Inside you’ll find everything you need.”

Root smiled politely at the boy as she passed by; he didn’t even bother to return it, choosing instead to stare blankly down the hallway.

Stepping into the room, the first thing that caught her attention was the décor. The walls were painted a dark grey, almost metal looking. There were what appeared to be three sci-fi style bunks built into the wall, a small television resting on a table against a wall, a couple of trunks that look like something John or Shaw would hide under their beds, and crates that read things like _rations_ and _ammo_.

All in all, Root felt like she had walked onto the set of a low-budget dystopia film.

Smirking, she turned to the woman next to her who was gazing around with a bored expression, knocking their elbows together. “What do you say, Shaw, should we decorate your apartment like this?”

Root couldn’t decide if she was surprised or not when Shaw looked almost like she was considering it.

In her ear, the Machine started relying the best places to acquire vintage trunks.

“Here we go,” Root was pulled from the Machine’s helpful interior design ideas as Lionel started speaking. He cleared his throat, reading from the laminated piece of paper in his hand.

“ _The year is 2243, and-_ ” Root shared a glance with Shaw as Lionel’s voice suddenly got caught in his throat. Quickly clearing it, he continued with a small smirk growing on his features, “ _and the world has been conquered by artificial intelligence from all sides._ ”

Root quickly stifled her own smirk as beside her Shaw viscerally jerked backwards, nearly slamming into the soccer mom behind her, and John froze with his hand half raised to straighten his suit jacket.

Oh yeah, this was going to be interesting all right.

______________________________________

“Wait, we still need the third number for the combination. We only have two, remember dumbass?”

“Brian!” 

Root rolled her eyes, John shaking his head at her in mutual exasperation as the two of them listened to the two teenage boys arguing by the trunk.

At least their mother was trying to keep them in line. Their dad was too busy trying to keep the couples youngest – a daughter probably around five years old – from getting stuck under one of the beds.

While the family of five was working on the lock combination for the trunk, Lionel and Harry were trying to crack a word problem which would supposedly give them the location of the second key they needed to get out of the room.

Meanwhile, Root was lounging on one of the crates with Shaw, and John was leaning against the wall, doing precisely nothing to aid their companions.

“Hey, Cocoa Puffs, you wanna help here?”

Root turned her gaze from the fighting boys to Lionel, who was staring expectantly while gesturing towards the piece of paper.

She cocked her head in thought, before coming to a decision, “Not really, no.” Grinning, she turned to her companions. “Hey, if we were stuck in a post-artificial intelligence apocalyptic world, do you think we’d live somewhere like this?”

Shaw just looked at Root, expression unreadable before turning away with a slight shake of her head and an eye roll.

Internally shrugging, Root turned to John, who looked to be seriously considering the question.

“I’m not sure. I’d like to think any bunker I made carried more ammo than this.”

“And your grenade launcher.”

“And my grenade launcher.”

______________________________________

“Hey sweetie-”

“If that sentence finishes with anything relating to an apocalypse, I’m locking you in the hallway tonight.”

Root hid a smile as she heard John choke on a laugh from where he stood nearby, lurking behind Finch like some kind of well-dressed ghost.

She pouted, not moving her pleading eyes from the side of Shaw’s face.

The other woman stared resolutely ahead, face expressionless.

“Are you guys dating?”

Root blinked; the moment ruined as she turned to make eye contact with the sixteen-year-old boy – she was pretty sure his name was Jason.

“Vincent, you don’t just ask people that!” Okay, so maybe she wasn’t so sure about his name. She eyed the boy’s mother.

Expensive running shoes that looked like they’d never been run in, designer jeans, stylish shirt, fancy highlights, accessorized with diamond earrings, gold necklace and knock off tennis bracelet.

She debated several answers – ranging from _no! how could you possibly think such a thing_ to _it’s none of your damn business who I go home with_ – before finally settling on what she thought was the best answer.

She flashed him a smile, before swiftly closing the few inch gap between herself and the woman beside her, arm flying around Shaw’s shoulders and tugging the woman towards herself. “Actually, we’re married.”

All eyes turned to Lionel as the detective snorted loudly, quickly covering with a small coughing fit and simple explanations of, “Dust.”

Root grinned towards the woman, who merely blinked, mouth opening a few times before finally finding words, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. You’re, um, not wearing rings.”

“Yes well,” Root patronizingly patted Shaw’s hand, ignoring the way her jaw clenched tightly, “this one here isn’t really the ring type. Isn’t that right, Sammy?”

This time it was John who snorted. 

______________________________________

“You know, you three could _try_ to help a bit more.” Root felt her eye twitch slightly as the soccer mom, who had introduced herself at the beginning and whose name Root had promptly forgotten, shot the three of them a slightly disgruntled expression.

Halfway through the play time, Root, Shaw, and John had yet to be of any help.

As for the rest of the group, they seemed to be doing rather well. The two boys had managed to open the trunk and revealed a locked box inside. Lionel and Harry had solved the word problem and found the second door key. Most everyone thought the final key was inside the lock box, however, they had yet to find a key that fit that particular lock.

“You want us to help?” The woman nodded at Shaw, her husband giving her an exasperated look.

Shaw nodded, her jaw tightening for a moment, before standing abruptly. “Give me the box.”

The woman looked startled. “I’m sorry, what?”

“The box. Give it to me.”

Stunned, the woman wordlessly handed it over.

Root watched with interest a Shaw inspected the lock for a moment, before swiftly slamming it against the wall with practiced skill. The broken lock was quickly removed, and Shaw threw the key from inside at the horrified woman’s face. “There. I helped. We’re getting dinner after this right?”

The room was silent as the three children stared in shocked awe at the compact woman.

“Miss Shaw!” Harold’s vaguely mortified voice broke through the still air, and suddenly the room was filled with noise.

“Nice going, Maybelline.”

“Did you just _break_ the lock?”

“Dad, can I learn to do that?”

Beside her, John gave a small laugh as Shaw glared at Harold and, grabbing the key from the shocked soccer mom, shoved past the older man towards the door they could now open.

Root had a feeling this was the last time Harold would suggest a “team building day.”

______________________________________

“Well that was a disaster.”

Root glanced up from her food, eyebrow raised at the curly haired man in front of her. “What do you mean, Lionel? I thought that went pretty well.”

“Pretty _well_?” Lionel stared at her disbelievingly, “The only thing you did was sit on a crate.”

“And provide much needed sarcasm.”

The man shook his head, before jerking it towards Shaw, who was too busy cutting her steak to pay attention to the conversation. “Miss Stability here nearly got us banned for life after that stunt she pulled with the lock.”

“Miss Stability here is holding a pretty big knife, so I’d watch what you say, _Lionel_.”

So apparently Shaw was paying more attention than Root gave her credit for.

“Oh come on, Lionel,” Root leaned conspiratorially across the table, “You can’t _honestly_ expect me to believe you enjoyed that.”

“I did. I happen to like Escape Rooms.”

“Oh.” Root’s smile fell as she leaned back in chair. “Well that’s disappointing.”

“Alright, Fruit Loops, just what would you rather be doing?”

Root tilted her head to the side, fork tapping lightly against her plate as she considered the question.

Sitting up straight, she grinned brightly at Lionel, who looked far more concerned then he had moments before. “What about paintball?”

Instantly, the table was awash with sound and Harold tried to explain precisely _why_ that was a horrible idea and Lionel protested vehemently.

Next to Harold, John narrowed his eyes at Root, seemingly lost in thought.

Shaw pointed her knife at Root. “Now _that_ is an idea I can get behind.”

The Machine murmured the confirmation of an order for three top-tier paintball guns in her ear.


End file.
